


Layers

by obviousAuthor



Category: Dexter (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Demisexual Dexter Morgan, God Complex, I be talkin, I saw that and said “is anybody going to acknowledge that?” And didn’t wait for an answer, M/M, Nail Polish, Possessive Behavior, Sibling Incest, anyway, dex doesn’t mind though he’s chill, from both sides sort of but mostly brian, just a little, oh look that’s a tag, so Dexter didn’t reject Brian basically, so basically this is the “Brian’s nail polish kink” fic you guys were too afraid to write, sorry guys I don’t know the difference between ao3 tags and a discord server, they are presumably in a boat heading away from Miami, whether Deb is alive is up to you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:47:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24212344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obviousAuthor/pseuds/obviousAuthor
Summary: Brian isn’t particularly shy about asking Dexter to engage in his stranger interests. (Dexter doesn’t judge. He’s cool like that.)
Relationships: Dexter Morgan/Brian Moser
Comments: 6
Kudos: 76





	Layers

“You’re doing the thing.” Dexter observes, watching his older brother’s face with a scrunch between his eyebrows. 

“The thing?” Brian asks quietly, with good humor. He inches closer, and places his hand on Dexters thigh. Dexter glances down, back at Brian, down again.

“Yeah, the soft smile and leaning closer thing. You want to convince me to do something, but you’re trying to sweeten it up.” 

Brian chuckles, eyes closed and mouth open. He doesn’t remove his hand from his darling brother’s leg. 

“Bingo.” Brian admits, putting his other hand in the air in a show of guilt. He smiles again, charming and shy in the way Dexter had seen him use on Debra. He knows exactly what he’s doing, doesn’t want it to work, but as usual with his birth-brother, emotion comes more easily than he’s used to. It’s both a blessing and curse. 

Brian leans even closer, until Dexter can feel his warm breath on his skin. It feels oddly fitting, that he finds the ‘Ice Truck’ killer so warm. Dexter is a unique victim. 

“Is it working?” Brian whispers, his voice verging on raspy. Dexter feels vaguely like a protagonist from those Rom-Coms Rita likes to watch; the scene where the generic male love interest would charm his intended. As usual, he’s pretty sure he’s not doing this right. Dexter is a man, and Brian is his brother. He’s not naive enough to think that the first qualifier really means anything, and their sibling relationship has already jumped off the deep end of atypical. 

“I’m not sure.” Dexter admits, going on a little cross eyed in his attempts to catalog every aspect of his brothers expression and stance. “The typical frame of reference here is kind of missing.” 

Brian’s hand snakes to meet his. He rubs the meat of Dexter’s palm, gently caresses the callouses born of vigilantism and boat maintenance. He simply smiles wider, in the too-wide, too-much sort of way that unnerves regular people. Frenzied, he thinks, would be the proper word. Manic, maybe. To him, it’s just Brian. 

“Whadya think, Dex?” Brian whispers, like this is just another game. Maybe it is. Usually their games involve more body parts. Usually, those body parts have undergone, are about to undergo, or are undergoing the process of divorce, so to speak. 

“You don’t want to kiss me. You would have just done that. It wouldn’t warrant this sort of preamble.” Dexter says, and Brian hums in response, close enough that Dexter can feel the buzz of it is his bones and blood. Brian presses a kiss to Dexter’s lips, feather-light, and pulls back before Dexter has time to process a response. 

“Which means that you want something generally considered unusual. Maybe sexual in nature. The ice has kind of thawed on esoteric violence.” 

“That’s what you think.”, Brian assures him with a grin, but nods, signaling for Dexter to keep going. “Nice pun, by the way.”

“Wasn’t intentional.” 

“I know. I liked it anyway.” 

Brian rearranges his feet by Dexter’s, sitting perched in a youthful, mischievous sort of way that would probably be funny if he weren’t entirely capable and willing to snap someone’s neck and bleed them dry on a moment’s notice. Dexter is reminded of a cat perched, ready to strike and toy with the mouse. Dexter thinks that probably makes him the mouse in this situation. He’s getting used to it. 

“Are you going to make me guess?” Dexter asks warily, steeling himself for a trip through his memory of Masuka’s remarks in some sort of Russian Roullette. 

“I think you can put it together.” Brian says, still with that Cheshire Grin stretching his face too-wide, cracking the person-suit and letting the passenger peek through. 

Brian’s fingers drift to Dexter’s nails, rubbing them softly. Dexter can feel the pressure of his touch under the keratin, dulled and soft but definitely _there_. A lot has been everywhere lately, now that Brian’s here. 

_Two negatives multiplied really do make a positive_ , he thinks. It’s an unorthodox type of mathematical proof. He’s an unorthodox sort of guy. 

It comes to him suddenly, in one of those moments of association that had made him the Wonder-Boy of the forensics lab and had managed to keep his nose above water for 30 years of human interaction. 

“You want to paint my nails.” He pauses. “I’m trying to ignore the amputee fetish here, but unfortunately that’s on the table too.” 

“Oh Dex..” Brian says wistfully, misty-eyed in the way of a blind person who has just now seen color. “I wouldn’t actually amputate you. That one’s just a fantasy.” 

“I think that may have been the first time that you decided to _only_ fantasize about something morbid.” 

“Indeed.” Brian replies, having turned to look for something in the under-seat storage of a nearby bench. Dexter isn’t surprised. This entire conversation was premeditated in order to fulfill whatever his brother had wanted. He wouldn’t have expected anything different. 

“You’re right, though.” He says, pulling out a small pink box. It wouldn’t look out of place in Astor’s room, but Dexter doesn’t laugh. The ridiculous is short trip away from the morbid, and Dexter unusually comfortable with both. 

“I’m warning you that it will get chipped in about an hour.” Dexter warns, resigned and, just a little, maybe excited in the way he is when his older brother’s attention is on him, without the barriers they’ve constructed for the world. Needless to say, he’s experienced more excitement in the past month than he had in the 30 years following the birth of his dark passenger in that bloody shipping container. 

“Not if you’re careful, they won’t.” Brian responds. Dexter hears the clink of the bottles in the box and the soft rustle of the waves outside like a windchime singing witness to their conjoined, bloody being. 

The only witness they’d ever have for long. Brian made sure of that, even when Dexter was too caught up with the code, Harry’s voice in his ears and his hands on his wrists. 

Brian clicks the box shut with one hand, holding the stems of 5 bottles of nail polish in his other. He places the box beside them, carefully sets down the bottles, and scoots closer, turning to face him. 

“You’re thinking about him. Stop that, Dexy.” Brian rubs his arms over Dexter’s forearms, the contact leaving that warm feeling so different from the flight-or-flight to coerced hugs from Debra or quesy, unsure sinking in his gut from the contact of Rita. “Think about me. Think about Biney, okay?”

Dexter takes a deep breath, and he smells him, smells _his brother_. This isn’t really about Brian wanting to paint his nails, he knows. It’s about family. It’s about ownership. To Brian, the Venn diagram might be a circle. 

It’s about letting him do what he did to his victims, and trusting against all pattern-of-behavior evidence that he will not be hurt, because he’s _different_. 

Brian holds his hand in his, and his fingers curl around Dexter’s wrists, Brian’s veins against his. He opens the bottle of polish with his teeth and balances it with the sort of precision and balance that amazes even Dexter. 

He begins to apply a clear layer, humming softly. Dexter studies his features, his posture, admires the lean muscle of his arms and shoulders. He’s relaxed, bathed in the sort of tranquility rare for both of them. Dexter is surprised to find himself beginning to fall into an easy, safe lull alongside his brother. 

“I’m sure the dock workers in Haiti are going to be thrilled with my manicure.” Dexter comments, ever-practical. Brian huffs. 

“Well,” he says, reaching for the second bottle of colored polish, “I guess you’ll have to stay out of the way then. I’ll get to keep you to myself.” His hand tightens marginally on Dexter’s wrist, a possessive sort of rigidity sneaking into his muscles. 

“I’m not thrilled at missing out on the chance to get some good street food while we’re on land.” Dexter responds with blunt playfulness.

“I’ll get you some. Pulled-Pork sandwich with just a bit of sauce. Not too much— you don’t like to make a mess.” 

Dexter whistles.“You really _did_ stalk me.” 

Brian smiles and places the 3rd bottle of polish down with an authoritative _clink_. “I like to think of it as a loving oversight from _Big Brother._ ” He says, and Dexter notices a slight breathiness to his voice, it coming out huskier and more strained. Brian’s hips and thighs twitch slightly, and with noticeable effort, Brian grabs the fourth bottle of polish. 

It takes Dexter a moment to realize what is happening. 

“Are you actually getting aroused by this?” Dexter asks, the little crinkle between his eyebrows that both Brian and Debra had nicknamed something along the lines of ‘his confused puppy face’ making an appearance. 

“Well, ah-“ Brian grips Dexter’s hand a little tighter, crossing over to the more aggressive side of firm. “That’s usually how fetishes work, Dexy. Fuck, that face is cute.” 

Brian scoots closer, making desperate twitches of his thigh against his crotch that made Dexter feel oddly powerful. He can feel his brother’s breath in his, and he imagined that he could feel his brother’s emotion through the shared air, in the way he never could with anyone else. 

Perhaps it really was true, because he’s getting hard, he realizes. It wasn’t the strange fetish itself; he certainly felt no excitement at the prospect of painting some prostitute’s hands 5 shades of ‘essie’, in the clear way that it excited Brian. But the hungry, possessive look in Brian’s eyes, the intimacy of allowing himself to have this effect on his brother; that is what he craved, what is making his pants feel tight against his skin. 

Sex, to Dexter, is an abstract concept in it’s barest form. The root carnal pleasure that even his brother in blood and violence seemed to enjoy is as confusing to Dexter as game shows or baby showers. But this intimacy, this vulnerability, with the only person that he knew that for better or for worse that he trusts with every fiber of his being, unlocks an understanding of the appeal of erections and rutting and shared wet breaths. Sex, he decides, was, although confusing in it’s own merit, was an appealing conduit for the vulnerability that he craved and only could ever truly experience with Brian.

And so, of course, while his brother shakily unscrews another bottle of polish, a fitting shade of red that reminds Dexter of a bathtub suicide scene, their breath intermingling and humid in a way not altogether dissimilar to a bad day in Miami, when the AC’s of supermarkets lure and shirts stuck to backs, he finds himself unfamilarly and intolerably hard. 

“Dex?” Brian’s voice whistles in his ear, the world’s most loving mosquito. “You’re not doing your internal monologue-thing when I’m trying to get off, are you?” 

Between the heat on his neck and the tugging in his groin and the unfamilar tingle under his skin, it takes him a moment to process what Brian has said. A moment was plenty, for Brian. He looks down, glances back up, into Dexter’s eyes, and his lips crack with a smile like shark. 

The pleasant burn in his body, the fire in his brothers eyes, he could believe that the sun and moon set on his shoulders and his freckles were the stars. Here, tucked into his brother’s long limbs, feeling his wrist around his own, pushing him down, the wet polish still being ever-so-carefully applied to his pinky, Dexter feels a little bit like God. 

Brian finishes painting his hands with a flourish, reluctantly relinquishing his hold on his brother’s wrist to set it down to dry. He blows softly, like Rita had on soup for the kids, just because. 

“Don’t move it. I’m gonna, ah-“ Dexter moves his hand, uncertain but bold in the rush of emotion and sensation, and gently palmed Brian through his pant’s, touch-barely there. Brian gasps like he’s been shocked, the sound both unusually high and utterly primal. He nods, rapidly, trying to clamber out of his pants and keep contact with Dexter at the same time. 

“I gotta, fuck- right here, Dexy. Ah, apply a clear coat in a few minutes.” 

Dexter raises an eyebrow, trying to move his hand from Brian’s crotch to deal with his own pants-situation. Brian nearly snarls, grabbing his free hand greedily and rutting slightly against it. 

“Are you sure you’re going to last that long?” Dexter asks, aroused and genuinely unsure how long this usually lasted. 

Brian grins down at Dexter, sharp and sweet like the God and the worshiper in one. His pants slip to the floor, Brian becoming almost clumsy in his excitement. He reaches out to make sure Dexter’s drying nails remain still on the table, then begins to finally work to free the cloth from Dexter’s hips. Dexter _whines_ and he can feel Brian’s grin along the column of his throat, his tongue on his jugular like a predator, before his older brother pushes his mouth onto his. 

“The top coat is for the second round, dear Dexter.” He whispers into the corner of Dexter’s lips, halfway between words and a gasp for air. 

As Dexter leans back and let’s his brother have his way, he thinks that he better focus on enjoying the first.


End file.
